4:02 AM Uta no Prince-sama HEAVENS Drabble: Eiichi Otori
by covacola
Summary: Taking place the night of the UtaPri award, this drabble is about Eiichi and how he handled things.


The muffled sounds of the city could be heard through the cracked open window. It was 2 AM and the city was finally just starting to settle down to sleep. "I should crash too," a man in his early twenties whispered to himself.

He sat at a cramped desk, rolling chair swiveled around at an angle from the window, causing the colored city lights to play across his features. The light glinted off the glasses neatly set aside on the table. He was hunched over, his elbows on his thighs, hands folded and pressed against his forehead.

With a sigh, he straightened up and lazily looked around the dark bedroom, eyes flicking across the dresser, bed, and lingered a moment on the door. Then, with another sigh, he laid back against the seat and closed his eyes.

He opened his eyes fractionally and glanced at the clock. 3:08 AM. Using his thumb and forefinger, he rubbed his eyes then pinched the arch of his nose, trying to gather his thoughts as consciousness slowly came back to him. It had been a long day. He was tired and he needed sleep, yet he couldn't bring himself to even move from the chair.

As soon as he had gotten back to the dorms, he had slumped into the chair. It was the first time since the actual defeat he allowed himself to truly look and feel defeated. How many times now had he played the whole thing – the group formation, the ice breaking and bonding, the endless hours of practice, the performance itself, the whole thing – back in his head. Four? Eight? Twenty? It was hard to tell now.

Things had been rough at first, sure. Eventually, though, things smoothed out. Nagi, Kira and he were a good team when it came down to it. Obviously it wasn't an over night deal but they learned to synchronize with each other. They had grown together steadily as a unit, as a band, and as everything that came along with dorming and working together 24/7.

And the practice, gods, the practice. That hadn't been over night perfection either. He couldn't even recall how long exactly it took before their practice looked anything like the final product.

The final product, too. The performance earlier that night. It sparkled in his memory like a fantastic, euphoric dream. But it hadn't been a dream, and even if it had, it had been a nightmare. His moves were prefect, as were those of his group mates. They worked as a unit, as one. Their harmonies were as on point as their moves. Nothing, absolutely nothing, had gone wrong. In fact, things went exceptionally well. And it still wasn't enough.

He slumped back in his seat, a fresh wave of emotions coursing through him. He shut his eyes tightly against the dim light of the now mostly empty city which poured in through the still opened window. Honestly, he felt sick. Physically ill. As if this so called "happy pulse" was a mere drug and he was now paying the consequences for it.

He felt so repulsed by it all. It had gone perfectly. They had done everything right. They worked so hard and now… now? "Now it's all for shit," he muttered to himself before pushing away from the desk and standing up.

After a momentary dizziness from the sudden movement, he looked back at the door anxiously. Yes, he and the other two HEAVENS members had gotten to know each other quite well and he knew for a fact neither of the other boys were asleep, and if they were, they'd only nodded off as he did.

He thought about checking up on them for a moment but as soon as the thought came he dismissed it. The last thing either of them needed was him at the moment. All three of them were rather dangerous when left to their thoughts, yet tonight seemed like a good night as any to leave one to that sort of hell.

Again, he closed his eyes, though only for a minute or so. For those few minutes, weariness took over and he had no clear thoughts, a change he openly welcomed. Then, slowly, lazily, he opened them again and turned toward the open window. He took a few measured steps to it and gently pushed it open. The midnight breeze ruffled his light, somewhat long ashy brown hair. His eyes colored like cut amethyst seemed to sparkle in the streetlight that flooded in. Then, with a deep breath, Otori Eiichi let his eyes flutter closed and his burdens go.

After a few minutes of calm, shallow breathing, his signature, somewhat unsettling smirk tugged at his cheeks. His eyes snapped open revealing his gem-like irises and that they now seemed to glow with some internal flame. An encouraging thought, dripping with HEAVENS almost signature narcissism, crossed his mind. It wasn't so much as a thought as it was a feeling. Something along the lines of "I'm the best, and I won't back down." With that, Eiichi took a step back, closed the window, and went to bed, glancing briefly at the clock on the desk. 4:02 AM.


End file.
